Leaving
by baddie-boop
Summary: A sequel to "Louise's Debt" set three years later, but can still be read even if you haven't read the first story. Logan and Louise have been happily dating for some time now, but what will happen when Logan has to travel to Hollywood to care for his pregnant mother? Can their relationship withstand the distance? Louigan! Lots of angst and fluff! ;) Please read and review.
1. Leaving

"You're leaving!?" Louise whimpered, sending a bolt of ache to strike in Logan's already wilting heart.

"Only for a little while, Lou." He responded, cautiously lifting his hands in the air - as if in surrender to some dangerous siege of warriors. Which, in all honesty, he sort of was.

"How - I - but why!?"

"Because...my mom...emailed me…"  
"What!?"

"Okay, bad explanation. Really bad. It's more than that and…yeah - I'm coming back!"  
"B-b-b-but when!?"  
"Oh. Uh, like...ten-ish months…."

An offended squawk left Logan's girlfriend, signifying the then expected tears which quickly welled up and overflowed within her coffee colored eyes, spilling over into her hand cupped cheeks. Though tears were typical to follow Louise's "weeping squawk", the mere presence of them always took Logan aback, who never expected nor knew how to handle his girlfriend's crying - though, deep down, he always would yearn to see such an emotional response, just to see if she really had lost her tear ducts in that one fist fight so long ago. Stiffly so, he reached out, patting her shoulders and muttering awkward condolences.

But then he shook himself, realizing what the fuck he was doing - this was Louise. Girlfriend -Louise. Love-of-his-life-Louise. Future-wife-Louise. And here he was, comforting her as if she were some strange, possibly clinically insane, homeless man at the bus stop weeping over a rotten banana (what a horrid Thursday that was). Logan was no rotten banana. And Louise was no homeless man. What the fuck was he doing!?

More boldly now, he took her in his arms - having to sit down on his nearby bed so as to not tower over her, but ended up with his head at her chest. He pressed the girl to him, closer now, so that his ear rested perfectly above her racing heart. His arms, long and lanky, perfectly curled around her waist, while hers wrapped around his neck - allowing Louise's a good spot to hide her falling tears - and Logan realized that he had just found the perfect hugging position for the two of them. Too bad he was leaving before they could properly try it out…

Then he felt some resistance. Louise trying to escape the hug, to run up to her room and hide beneath the covers - something she always did on the rare occasion she cried. Not out of anger, really. Just purely out of shame. As if crying was something to be embarrassed about. But Logan kept an iron grasp, determined to see this through. To make sure she understood why he was doing this, but also that, goddamn, this was just as painful for him.

"She's pregnant Louise." This stifled her crying some bit, and he felt the immediate relaxation of her once tight muscles. She was now all ears, the last of her searing tears rolling down Logan's own cheek. "She's pregnant, and the guy took off."

"What?" She croaked, stepping away to look at Logan with watery, red-rimmed eyes, but keeping her palms firmly rested on his shoulders. His own arms uncurled, hands finding themselves placed on the swell of her hips, as if holding Louise steady from the constant turning of life around her. Though now was the worst time to think of it, Logan realized that he was really going to miss the feel of those hips.

"Yeah. My mom fucked up. Again."  
"Who's the father?"  
"Some pool cleaner at the shitty apartment she lives in - I didn't even know that she'd left New Jersey, by the way. She just took off for some booze-cruise, sex-romp in Hollywood a couple years back. And decided to stay. Forever. And now she's fucking pregnant, Lou. And she's in her forties. Late forties. There's a high chance - and I mean high - that my little baby brother is gonna end up having Down's."

"But how is you visiting for a couple of months...going to help?"  
"She's pregnant, defenseless, and living in an unsafe area all on her own. She's gonna need me to help out, make sure she's alright. And. believe me, I asked her all the same questions you're asking me now. And, no, she doesn't have any other friends to help her out. She scared them all off with her insane bitchiness. Her words. Okay, they're mine, actually. But still. She's screwed, Louise. Real screwed. And, granted, she wasn't there for me when I was screwed, but my brother definitely didn't do anything wrong to deserve dealing with that hag all on his own. And I want to be apart of his life. Enough to give him something to fall back on when she was one of her 'mood swings'. Okay?"

"B-but, uh, couldn't she move here?! New Jersey is far cheaper than Los Angeles. She could afford a place - granted, a much shittier place. But still, a place, right!?"  
"And live where? I mean, it's cheap here, yeah - but she's got, literally, no money. I think the only reason she's even able to keep that apartment is because she's blowing the landlord. And then she also needs to get a job here. I mean, she's never held one down before - except for what she's doing now. Being a 'paparazza' or whatever. Which, also, she can't really go running around snapping photos of Paris Hilton eating an energy bar while being 7-months preggo. Right? So, at the moment, she's essentially - no, she is jobless. And too annoying to go finda new one."

"Couldn't...couldn't I come with you!?"

"Not a chance in hell, young lady!" Yelled Linda's distinctly familiar voice from up the basement stairs. "Summer is coming up and that's rush hour for us! Think about all the hungry-ass tourists who're gonna stuff their faces here!"

"Can you not eavesdrop, Mom!"

"Yeah, you heard her, Mom. Buzz off." Gene whispered.

"Gene!? I - oh my god - who else is listening!?" Louise wailed, only to receive more silence. Knowing her family and their quirks, the youngest Belcher was certain that Gene and her mother were not the only ones listening in. "Tina…?"

"No…." Replied a monotone whimper.

"Dad…?"

"What? - I, uh, was just here for….staples. Yep. Got them. Okay, see ya guys. Have fun listening in on….whatever is happening downstairs…." Bob murmured, unconvincingly.

"Louise, forget them." Logan said, though murmuring slightly now - his voice soft and flighty, sending chills to Louise's knees. Damn him. "Just focus on this. Are you gonna be okay?"  
"No, Logan. I'm not. I will never be okay. Not while you're gone."  
"Okay. That was...not...the answer I was hoping for…" He said, though, internally, impressed with the wavering, romantics in the Belcher's tone - something that wasn't so often coaxed out, especially before eavesdropping ears. Maybe if Logan had mentioned that gratitude, than the conversation wouldn't've gone as downhill as it did.

"What do you want me to say, Logan? Huh? That I'm glad you're taking off for, what, nine months!?"  
"Ten, actually…-and, no, of course not. But I did expect at least a little bit of, I dunno, maturity!"  
"Maturity!? Says the guy who's leaving his real family - the one who took him in when he was destitute - to fend off summer's tourist frenzy all by ourselves!"  
"Seriously!? You're seriously saying that!? That me leaving four perfectly capable adults to run a slightly busier than usual restaurant is more selfish than me leaving my poor, pregnant mother!?"  
"You're leaving three and a half perfectly capable adults now that Tina's helping Jimmy Jr. and, yeah, that's exactly what I'm saying, you ass!" In the distance, Linda's muffled and worried "oh dear…" could be heard, but was ignored by both now fuming adults. Logan was back on his feet, looming over the shorter female - who, despite her petite size, looked rather menacing herself, literally clenching her white knuckled fists with how angry she was. "And, god, Logan! I can't believe you're leaving me! I thought we promised each other never to abandon each other! And here you are, going off to Los Angeles!"  
"Yeah, to care for my mother! What do you think I'm going to do - have an affair with her!?"

"Yeah!? - Wait, no. Ew. What I mean is, I think you are going to cheat on me!"  
"Why would you ever think that, Louise!? When have I ever come close to being unfaithful?"  
"I mean, for all I know, the only reason you haven't been unfaithful already is because you can't find a chick hotter than me! You're going to be gone for ten months, Logan! In Los Angeles - home to some of this planet's most beautiful women! Yeah, I definitely think you're going to be at least a little tempted to cheat!"

"Okay, news flash, Louise - if I were to be tempted, it wouldn't be because she's better looking or some bullshit like that. It's because she wouldn't act constantly like such a selfish bitch!"

And then it was as if a flip had been switched. The argument was over. The conversation was over. All general talk was over - and not just between Logan and Louise, but for everyone in the entire house, which had seemed to still from it's once shuddering state, as if holding in a deep breath that was soon to be disastrously exhaled. It was just a rule, unspoken but unmoving in its importance, that referring to another as "bitch" would never, ever, ever be okay. Especially not during an argument. And with the breaking of the rule, a deafening, stiff silence seemed to seep from the jagged edges - drowning everyone out, making them regret their actions and not appreciating the moments before this entire fiasco, which now seemed so peaceful in comparison. Except Louise that is.

No, Louise was never one for regret. She was just one for revenge, and hate, and, most of all, rage. And, with her tear streaked expression, Logan saw what appeared to be a sea of daggers, army of grenades, and handful of middle fingers aimed at his direction - a see of absolute, unmoving hatred towards the boy she once worshipped so soundly. However, this radiating loathing all swiftly disappeared as soon as she turned away to sprint up the stairs, leaving Logan to stand in the dust of her contempt.

He had fucked up.

He had fucked up, big time.


	2. Taming the shrew (NSFW)

In this moment, Louise was Empress of Execration. Sovereign of Scorn. Monarch of Malice! Brewing up one hell of a storm within her tiny, dark haired cranium as she feverishly tore away at a napkin - reducing the paper to a growing pile of withered scraps, one that could not expand as quickly as her rising anger. No, nothing could outrun Louise's mind in creating a rigid resentment towards those that dared wrong her. Not the Roadrunner, not Speedy Gonzales, and certainly not Logan's sputtered out apologies - well, if he would even attempt to apologize, that is. Granted, there was no way in hell that she was going to forgive him so easily - but he could at least try! Venturing that action would certainly have far more success over what he was doing at that very moment: gawking at the Belcher from afar while pretending to mop up a child's vomit on the floor, though he was really just standing directly in the mess, soiling his ragged sneakers and the once moderately fresh hem of his jeans.

God, she could literally feel his sky-colored stare burrowing into her dark strands - a tingling sensation that, at the moment, was the most irritating thing on the planet, and had zero possibility of ever coaxing even a side eye glance to the pathetic blonde. The stares of the other Belchers were just as annoyingly felt, though not as constant and determined as Logan's, at least. Instead, Louise's family looked from her sullen seething, then to one another, and then to Logan's intense gaping, all six of them "pretending" to work - but not getting anything done at all, and leaving several other customers rather hungry, and, unexplainably so, extremely uncomfortable.

But tough titties to their rumbling bellies, Louise thought. She was pissed. She was mad. She was scorned. How horrid was that? To be scorned by someone you loved and trusted? And then for him to not even have the decency to even attempt an apology - but again, she repeated herself, there was no way in hell that she would ever show mercy to that impudent jerk.

Logan, on the other hand, was overflowing with...want? Desire, even? Not that he found her hating him alluring. God, no. Quite the opposite actually. He couldn't stand arguments, and he couldn't stand it when Louise was mad at him. Him being mad at her? Tolerable. At best. But her raging fury - directed at somebody as, well, pathetic as him was just...unbearable. He was a weakling. Needy, but sadly very proud, and extremely quick to use the "b" word. Ugh. And now he was itching - begging to resolve this. Whatever means necessary. Nevermind that just five hours had passed since their fiasco of a "goodbye" talk, Logan was already fully prepared to murder just to win that girl's mercy. He was twitching now, a rushing panic coursing through him and commanding him to do something - anything!

And then, he did.

With a loud clattering of the mop, it's wooden handle slamming onto the floor - startling many, including Louise, who finally turned to meet Logan's direction just because of the sound. But he remained undeterred from his task, and Logan strode, unhindered, towards the girl before hurling his lips into her's - causing a sweet, searing, bone-clashing clattering of their teeth, one that stunned Louise into a brief, numb submission - allowing the blonde to practically push her unmoving figure through the kitchen, the door, and, finally, slammed into the alley's damp, cold brick wall. She began to squirm now, the slight tingle of high pitched squeaks forming against Logan's feverish lips. Quickly, a sturdy hand of his flew to her neck, stretching out vertically and slightly lifting her jaw - refusing Louise the chance of slithering from his determined kiss. But, the Belcher, always having more fire than her opponent could assume, clamped both rows of sharp, white teeth down on Logan's soft bottom lip.

To Louise's surprise, and slight fear even, Logan did not respond with the quick wince of pain, one that would drive him away from her - freeing Louise from being crushed between the blonde and a graffiti laden building. Instead, his panicked kisses ceased - breaking all contact between lips, but being close enough so that she could feel a warm exhale on her slightly upward pointing chin. But he remained steadfast in keeping her pinned to brick - his groan, noticeably, acting as the main binding of her position. She could see a spot of blood trailing from his raw, ragged lips - curling down the blonde's chiseled jaw and staining his fair stubble. Louise's eyes, dragging themselves up his stone cold expression, finally settled on his returning stare. No longer being destitute or remotely craven, the boy held a gaze of utter sternness, contempt, and the overpowering air of lust. And Logan saw it: the oh-so-brief lightning bolt of pure attraction that flashed in her coffee colored eyes, causing a slight, cocky grin to spread on his chin.

"What do I need to do? Fuck you right against this wall?" He asked, still carrying a tone of domineering superiority.

"No. Fucking has got nothing to do with this, you ass."  
"Yeah, but maybe it'll teach you not to act so goddamn contemptuous all the fucking time." He spat, though this was only returned with a hardening glare - a serious one, one that said Louise did not like this side of Logan. He felt him lose his hold - only briefly though, a flinch of fear scratching his expression - before he regained his previous cruel, aloofness. "But, more importantly, it might just show you how much I fucking need you, dumbass. So much so that I need to fuck you when and wherever I can - considering what little time we have left."

At this, the Belcher's hateful expression melted into one of cocky slyness, and, without even the command to do so, Logan found him undoing his own fly and wedging his hips further into Louise's parted legs while bunching up the dark skirt that hugged her thighs. Swiftly pushing aside whatever thin fabric shielded their searing cores, Logan practically smirked at the noticeable relaxation of Louise's muscles - but then her breath quickly hitched at the sudden flick of his hips, and he really was wearing a shit eating grin now - because she was moaning now. Lips parted, eyes closed in pure pleasure, nails raking through his scalp.

The rest is just a flurry of passionate sensations. The frigid night air nipping at small snippets of exposed flesh, the rough wall of brick scraping and reddening Louise's shoulder blades, the dull pain of her spine arching against such a coarse surface, the pads of Logan's clenching fingers surely leaving swollen, purple bruises into her thighs, the scalding friction of such delicate areas. They both lose themselves, becoming unsure, and mostly uncaring, towards who the fuck is taking charge of such a sensual situation, only focused on the budding need for a sweet, swaying, sinful release. Logan, much to his shame, is first to unravel - heavy, shuddering breaths filling his loves ear as his trembling palm manages to haphazardly find itself between their pelvises - forcing Louise's own finish to be pulled out in the form of a desirable, vocal song of rapture - one that Logan, much to his own inner dismay, had to silence with the same hand as before. She could catch the scent of sex radiating of his hand, infiltrating her nose, but comparing not in intensity to how much the blonde's wrists did tremble. Sometimes, it truly did amaze Louise just how much of an effect she had on him. Something she never imagined she'd ever have the honor of being the cause of.

Slowly, with unbreaking eye contact, Logan let's the Belcher slide back to the ground - her own legs having lost some strength in all the passion, but she's quick to stabilize herself. He doesn't step away from her - chest to chest, heartbeat to heartbeat, palm to palm - not daring to ever part from such an undiminishing source of sweet fire. At least, not in this alleyway.

"So are we good?" He croaked, voice resembling that of a rusty chain - full of just as much weariness and determination.

"Of course not, Barry Bush." She briskly responded, not even being hindered by the genuine sigh of desperation and sadness over his failure. "It was an excellent lay. Don't worry. One of our best. But it's not going to change the fact that I want you here. That I will always want you here. Giving me fucks just as good as that one."

This caused a small, secret grin to pierce Logan's expression, one that he attempted to hide, in hopes of still retaining a crossed visage. But, perceptive as ever, Louise was quick to notice it, forming one of her own. And then sweet, warm kisses were peppered quickly onto the other - appearing far too innocent in comparison to the previous licentious activities that had just occurred in the now sex scented alleyway.

"But you understand, right? Please tell me you understand. That I have to do this. And not because she's my mom, or because he's my brother. But because I just know that…"

"You're going to find a conclusion?"

"Exactly." He breathed, the smile only growing wider, but his eyes becoming wearier.

"Of course I do, Logan. Of course I do."


	3. The whimper

Logan's final parting wasn't a bang. A sudden tear between the two. An agonizing rip. A loud scream, one that forcibly separated the unwilling lovers from their tight embrace.

It was a whimper. A dissipating parting. A mumbling goodbye. One that took eons and seemed to relish in the seething, somber pain, which soaked the two, weighing down their hearts, their heads, even their clothes - which felt much thicker and suffocating in these last few days. While Louise and Gene sobbed mercilessly into Logan's shoulder, drowning out the various intercom announcements made at airports with their pathetic blubbering, Louise watched from afar - complexion pale and drained of all color. She was trembling now, shriveling within her - no, his parka - almost wanting to drown inside the warm coat and it's coffee colored fabric, giving her relief from the painful clamping of her throat and the rusty anvil enlarging in her chest. She tried to look away, focusing on the airport's eerie, frigid lighting, or the reflection of passing travelers appearing on shining, ceramic floors, or how vacant the airport seemed.

It became Tina's turn, who, gazing intensely at her sandals, gingerly stepped forward, as if she were nearing a lion's cage. With hunched shoulders and a clenched jaw, her fingers untangled themselves from Jimmy Jr.'s, desperate to keep as much contact as possible until she stepped far enough that the grip broke - practically with a somber, sharp snap. Only Louise seemed to notice the exchange and the anxious gaze in Jimmy's eyes, while the others focused on the eldest Belcher - who, abruptly, rammed herself into Logan's chest, stooping slightly to prevent her pregnant belly from being crushed between the two. The blonde's expression flourished into shock over the abrasive contact, before settling into one of impressed sympathy as he returned an equally tight hug. And then they slowly parted, and Tina stepped backwards back into her husband's waiting arms - not breaking a tear filled stare with Logan.

And then there was Bob. Hunched over, mumbling, bashful Bob. Digging his heel into the ground and murmuring about how good of an employee Logan is, causing a an increasingly sappy, pitiful smile to form on his busboy's face before he slowly curled his arms around the man's aching shoulders. Bob returned the hug. Perhaps not as violently as Tina's, but with a far more demanding, iron-like grip that squeezed all wind out of the kid, leaving him breathless, and aching, and laughing, before Bob quickly snapped back to his wife's side - looking out towards the expansive gatehouse to hide his red rimmed eyes.

Finally, it was Louise's turn.

It was as if a spotlight was shined on her, illuminating the Belcher's colorless, longing expression. The family parted so Logan had a direct path to the doe-eyed girl: collapsing within herself, desperate to hide away from all of this - the grief, the farewell, the truth. He slowly stepped towards her, expression of self-assurance and stability nearly evoking feelings of envy within Louise - who hated just how much of a humiliating requirement it was that he stay. He cupped her pale cheeks into his own hands, oversized sleeves of his camo jacket allowing peeking digits to touch her skin with a rough, calloused texture. But when his blue, permeable eyes began their bottomless dig into her's, she caught the slightest twitch - the slightest crack - of his cool visage, and mercilessly grabbed onto it, her mere determined gaze making it clear what she was searching for: that vulnerability. That selfish desire to not leave. The ache she so badly wanted him to share.

Without much more pressuring, that small crack ripped into a gaping hole, and his once tranquil face contorted into an expression of uncontainable grief. Eyebrows knitting, tears forming in his eyes, mouth wrenching and warping as it tried to stifle a pitiful sob. Louise was so intensely focused on the abrupt exposure, that she was numb to the tears trailing down her cheeks, lips curling into an almost victorious, devious smile, hands gripping his wrists with a knuckle white tightness.

Logan knew the harsh reality. That he couldn't kiss her. He could not, would not kiss her. Because he knew that as soon as he found himself pushing into her cracked lips, arching back her neck, running long fingers through dark strands, pulling her pounding heartbeat into his - he would never be able to let her go. Not ever. They would just stand there for eternity, curling into the other with a concrete clasping and pathetic gasping.

In a panicked, flustered flurry, Logan neared and distanced his lips from hers, seemingly unsure what the fuck he should do. How he should say good bye, tear himself away from home. He pressed his forehead into hers, he smelled the top of her head, he ran his thumb along the curve of her jaw - all in a sappy fuss of tears and apologies and hushed whispers. Until, finally, Logan - reaching his stone cold senses - firmly pressed a bristled kiss into her forehead, tear filled eyes looking upwards - unable to even bare taking notice of how his love shuddered at the kiss, lips quivering and fingers curling around the collar of his coat.

And then, not even giving her one last glance, Logan whipped around, gazing at his sneakers and securing the duffel bag on his shoulder with one last tug before speeding off - legs carrying him as quickly as they could. Louise was left to gape after him, destitute and alone, even when all nearby members concaved onto the girl, gifting her with kisses and sympathetic words. But she was blind to all, only focused on the shrinking figure that hurried off - becoming smaller and smaller, until he mixed in with the bustling crowds.

But they didn't understand. No one understood. Even Logan wouldn't understand until he was clenching onto the armrests of his seat - stewing over the steepness of take off - that this wasn't a proper goodbye. No, it wasn't a satisfying bang. An abrupt end. A knot to the braid. It was a whimper, a bottomless pit, a missed step on the staircase. A goodbye where Logan hurried off, ripping away something from Louise - something that didn't belong to him, and was required to function. They could both feel it. In the dead of night, or a rare moment of stillness. Logan had a shield, something sweet and heavy, bundling him up. Louise had a hole in her heart, screaming, and searing, and seething, and so desperate for a filling.


	4. Just like socks

For days, Louise brooded - missing her stupid, dumb, idiotic boyfriend with a heart wrenching ache that drove the Belcher to near muteness. Everyday, from morning to night, it was just a ringing ache that echoed throughout her rib cage, similar to that of the pain achieved from bouts of extreme hunger. It was a famishment, a need, a yearning, and it pushed her to near insanity. She would look up to find the perky blonde absent from his counter, no longer providing bad puns or snappy comebacks. Instead, Tina was there, pushing around a soggy mop and heaving her bulging belly about. She would sweetly smile at her flushed, gaping sister, oblivious as to why she looked so disappointed.

Louise came to release how massive of an absence Logan was when he wasn't around. Literally, over half of her social life had abruptly vanished with his parting. All friendships had paled in comparison to the chemistry she shared with her boyfriend, and had drifted away - leaving Louise desolate and rather friendless. Any attempts to regain friendships, like attending movie marathons with Jessica or going to the arcade with Daryl, only ended with odd glances and humiliating questions - " _Where's Logan?"_ or " _Did Logan break up with you?"_. It was Louise's fault really, she realized that. After spending so long practically molded to that boy, she should've expected the shock of others - the surprise that her other half, her siamese twin was _gone_.

Even her family was surprised by it, finding the change...strange. Though it wasn't as bad as the failed friendships, their reactions were still pretty damn awkward. Without the blonde, it was as if Louise's two person act had been split down the middle - making her humor and jokes only 50% as funny. She didn't have somebody that would engage in humorous wits, or fake arguments down purely for comedic effect, or a person who would add on to Louise's mediocre puns - adding quips and retorts which seemed to make the entire stunt completely hilarious.

She was alone, she was half a human, and in that frigid isolation spawned the irrepressible feelings of jealousy, betrayal, and abandonment.

Bob found her perched in the back alley, sifting through shards of a broken beer bottle with the tip of her sneakers. Hands in her palms, elbows digging into her knees, and a heavy lidded gaze made the girl seem purely apathetic. Bob, unloading the last package of spices from the car let out a heavy sigh, realizing that, yes, he was going to have to muster up what little mushy sympathy he could, and have a heart to heart with his daughter.

She didn't even react to his presence when he plopped down beside her, holding two soda cans and a bag of Goldfish. He felt ignored, and nudged her slightly in the vain attempts to gain his daughter's attention. She grunted, glaring away towards the setting grapefruit and cantaloupe cocktail of a sky - which appeared as a multicolored sliver between the overhead roofs, piercing through their dim upward surroundings. Louise seemed to relax at the mere sight of nature's beauty, a feature that had previously gone unnoticed by all her fuming. Bob waited for her to unwind some more, letting the soothing sunset colors consume her, before finally speaking.

"So, how are you doing?"  
"How do you think?" She spat, again, not looking towards her speaker. Instead, she stretched her neck back, as if sunning herself to the upward pastel shades, and kept her eyes peacefully sealed.

"Louise, you've got to get over him sometime."  
"No I don't. I could just wait for nine months to pass and I'll be all good. He'll return and I'll be fine."  
"Nine months? Spent in pain?"

"It's not exactly like I have a choice, Dad."

"Sure you do."  
"How? How the hell do I have a choice?!" She wailed, whipping her head to face her father - flashing fierce, auburn eyes that resembled a glaring, arched-back cat - hissing wildly at it's owner.

"Pain subsides, Louise. It might take a while, but it will. Eventually." Bob calmly breathed, before taking a long sip from his can. With a hoarse whisper, as if trying to accentuate what he was next going to say, he murmured "That's what happened with my mom."  
"What?" Louise's ears immediately pricked up at the mere sound of "mom". Bob rarely ever spoke about the "other parent", sometimes just referring to the woman her birthed him by name - and always with a tone of utter disdain. It had never been officially said that she was an unmentionable topic, but the way Bob brooded on her birthday and how he one time cried when he found her wedding photo left the children fearful and timid about ever crossing such boundaries. But now, it appeared Bob would be crossing such boundaries himself.

"My mom. When she left."  
"How old were you?" The Belcher timidly asked, hands tightening around the cold can in her palms - as if trying to keep a grip on reality, in fear that she would lose her restraints, and ask one too many questions.

"Twelve, I think. So, much younger than you - but still able to deal with the pain!" Louise rolled her eyes at this, even if Bob meant it in a lighthearted manner. He cleared his throat, composing himself, before continuing. "She just took off one day, Louise. My dad's temper had ruined her 'nerves' or whatever, and she just left. Right after her birthday. And during the celebration, there was absolutely no sign or hints that she was going to leave, either. Actually, she was even happier than usual. Warmer."

He was zoned out now, eyes focused not on broken bottle shards, but on a birthday cake - illuminated through the swallowing darkness by ember, pastel candles. A woman's face before it, dark swaths of hair curling around her high cheekbones and defined jaw, thick lips bunching into an "O" to blow out the candles before her - sending out all light with a quick, arid breeze, and everything was plunged back into darkness.

"Usually, on her birthday, she would just worry about wrinkles and aging and lock herself in the bathroom, worrying over her reflection. But on this one, she was happy. Genuinely happy. Holding me in her arms and singing along. Really singing along, too. Like, belting. But she had such a pretty voice, so it was okay. And she was warm to, always smelling like vanilla cookies or whatever." Bob shook his head slightly, as if realizing that he was sinking too far into distant memories and had to retain some hold on himself. Now, sounding far more sober and present, he continued - can up to his lips, quieting his voice slightly. "And then she was gone. Dad just shook me awake and told me 'Your mom's gone, Bob'. And then he just stormed out. Left me to cry all on my own. And I remember waiting for somebody to comfort me, like they usually would. But then I realized that the person who comforted me was my mom. And she was gone."

They sat in silence, Louise gaping at her zoning out father - shocked and stunned and grappling with these sudden exposure, unsure of how to handle it. Louise was never good with emotions, particularly those of others - and now she wasn't sure how to deal with this, as if she were holding a small infant: easy to crush and incredibly delicate. And what if she did ruin this? Ruin him? Send him reeling and regretting that he ever opened up to his own daughter, bearing the weight of utter humiliation over being honest. Oh god, her mind was racing, tripping over itself, falling flat on it's face - all resulting in one exterior reaction. Wide eyed silence. Amazingly, this ended up being the perfect response.

"The pain was crushing, Louise. Granted, she and I weren't as close as you and Logan….thank god. But she was...my shield, I guess. Without her, everything just changed - like, literally, the entire world changed without her. Everything became much harder. Homework seemed more difficult, the dark became scarier, my father's temper become more apparent and far easier to trigger. Life wasn't full of opportunities anymore. It was just full of mistakes and consequences."

"But the point of all of this, Louise, is that...separation is agonizing. So...I don't know if you're experiencing this, _yet_ , but don't beat yourself up about what you're feeling now. Th-That's just for future reference, okay? But, for this moment now, you should now, also, that that pain doesn't really go away.

"Oh _great_ …" Louise breathed, sinking her chin into her knees.

"It doesn't, not until the lost returned. _But_ you grow stronger." Bob said, eyeing his seething daughter, who abruptly perked up at his pause and looked up at him. "The weight eventually doesn't become so heavy, because you grow to handle it. To bear it. And, soon, it just becomes apart of you. At least, that's what happened to me."  
"Really?"  
"Yep. I just woke up one day, and the lose of my mom wasn't so….searing, I guess. Like, if I searched for it, I _could_ find that ache - this raging, tyrant of an ache. But if I didn't, then it was there, but dull and quiet - like socks."  
"What!?" Louise squealed at the odd comparison, laughing even. The sudden break of a smile on her face was practically painful, though, like ripping off a bandaid. But it was a good, sharp, prickly pain too. A cool, refreshing release.

"You know, socks. Like, you first put them on, and they're itchy and confining and you can't wiggle your toes. But you keep on wearing them, and eventually you just forget that they're there. They just become part of the shoe."  
"So, me missing Logan is like...putting on socks? Is that what you're saying?"  
"Exactly."  
Louise ponders that a bit, realizing, in the process, that the wailing ache in her chest...it's been quieted. Not removed, but...drowned out by something else. The ache in her gut from laughing? The prickling from her stretching lips? The brisk coldness of the afternoon air kissing her exposed skin? Now, the once screaming pain is just a quiet murmur - unsteady and threatening to spill out in the form of a roaring wave. But, still, just a silent trickle, running within in her.

"I never did like socks…." She murmured, resting her head on her father's shoulder.


	5. The Mother

She's aged horribly. Something that Logan isn't afraid to state - regardless of the seething glares she shoots him from behind her knockoff Prada sunglasses, or the bangle heavy slaps she sends to the back of his blonde scalp. And then, as if on cue, her acrylic talons toss out the cigarette caught between two stretched, crimson lips, and embed a new one - igniting the roll with a cheap lighter displaying Marilyn Monroe's smiling face. The overpowering scent of nicotine and tawdry perfume push Logan to lift off the cadillac's top, though this only exposes the two to Hollywood's smog tainted gusts of wind and the howling wails of distant sirens. Cynthia seemed oblivious however, or maybe distracted - looking out at the passing dilapidated dwellings with a preoccupied focus. Such troublesome thoughts rendered her silent, and Logan felt the awkwardness of their stillness creep up on him. In a feeble attempt to continue conversation, he mumbled, "You really shouldn't smoke while pregnant, you know."

Without missing a beat, as if she were expecting such a comment, his mother retorted "My baby has issues far more worrisome than my smoking habit."

"Your baby won't have any issues at all if you keep smoking. You're increasing your chances of a miscarriage or something."  
"Would that really be so bad?"  
A searing pang of pure irritation flared up within Logan, and his hands gripped knuckle white tight on the wheel before him. Through gritted teeth, he seethed, "Why didn't you just abort the child?"

But, Cynthia, rather than sputtering out some snarky, irrefutable response, took a long drag from her cigarette - savoring the sweet possibility of lung cancer striking her right then, before murmuring."I ask myself that all the time, Logan."

"And? What's your reason?"  
"I don't have one. I really don't. There's just no explanation for it. I never really liked kids in the first place". Logan winced at this, his grip on the steering wheel, amazingly, growing tighter - leaving blisters to form on his palms. But he kept his cool, waiting for her to continue. "But when I got ready for the procedure, I remember staring into the lights above me and sobbing. Uncontrollably. So hard that the doctor, she just poked her head out from between my legs and gave me this pitiful, sad smile - and sent me home. Like I was a child. A young, hillbilly teen who had gotten knocked up by her dearest paramour or whatever. I don't know. It was just humiliating and pathetic and something I never wanted to do again. So I just sat on my couch, ate twinkies, watched 'Dateline', and watched my belly grow."

The blonde's throat is clamped, chest heaving slightly by how winded he was by the response. He's probably just thirsty from L.A.'s unbearable heat - clenching his words and cracking his lips, leaving him with sweaty, unsure palms. But Cynthia is smirking beneath her Prada glasses, glancing over at her dumbstruck, flushed son - born from within her, but going completely rogue in kinship. What a rebel. Just like her, honestly - albeit in an entirely different fashion. However, isn't that the way of rebels? To ruin all perceived presumptions of identity? To stray off the course of most expectations? Yes, it is. And, despite all the chaos it's produced, Cynthia has to admit the endearing, overcoming pride she feels towards her boy's independence.

Only the silent whizzing of passing breezes fill the stillness, both mother and child now staring off into the void - contemplating things far too complicated for their simple hearts.


	6. Phone Calls

The phone calls between Louise and Logan slowly die out, becoming too much of an imposition to continue anymore. There's guilt on both ends over the slowly dying of their talks, but also a small, shameful sliver of gratitude - their talks through the receiver being much too unintelligible and repetitive to continue.

Usually, Logan would complain about how sore his back was from bricklaying, how tired he was from long work hours, and how horrid his mother was being - whining about tabloids and soap operas, and buying overpriced clothes. Sometimes he would fall asleep while Louise was talking about the business back at the restaurant or the latest rude customer, and she would be left feeling cut off and, well, irritated. But as soon as they called again, such twinges of annoyance would be hidden, covered up by tales of Gene's antics and Tina's mushiness - but never truly dissipating. Not when Logan would murmur a quick "love you", or when he would incoherently mumble, on the brink of unconsciousness, that he missed her.

Louise sat at the kitchen table, phone to her ear, beneath a cone of warm light emanating from a single overhead lamp, saving her from being swallowed up the night's drowning darkness. The Belcher tried to memorize the sweet snores emitting from the receiver, hoping that if she did, than she would hear it herself in the dead of night - Logan's soft, rhythmic breathing. The melody that used to send her to sleep, that used to soothe her, that used to be there.

Was that their last phone call? One spent without any real chatter or words, just Louise listening hopelessly to her slumbering boyfriend? Praying that he would wake up from dreamland - from his stupidity - and realize that she was alone. And she was missing him.


	7. Fearing the Phone

He falls asleep to the sound of Louise's soothing, rhythmic voice, one that has become the sweetest of lullabies since he entered this siren wailing, car filled city. Telephone receiver crushed between his ear and shoulder, he slumps on a patched up arm chair, lazily patting off the brick dust caked onto his leather-like palms. A small smile twinges on his bristled chin when she groans about Tina's baby craze over her newborn, and he feels an immediate spark of joy over his role as a counselor to him.

The glow of a nearby lamp, the soothing of his once aching muscles, the cradling of cushions beneath him, the melodic voice….eventually he's no longer in a dim, cluttered apartment: a kingdom of stacked books, decrepit furniture, and mold growing in the grooves of tiles. He's in his bed - his real bed, the cozy basement beneath Bob's Burgers, where wafts of savoury aromas seep into the room - Louise beside his side, hands roaming her soft curves, lingering on the marked, flabby areas that she so secretly loathes, prompting a smile, bashful smile to strike across her lips. There are tinkling giggles and peppered kisses and fluttering butterflies within their tummies, which so ecstatically flap about when Louise's sturdy hands slide down his abdomen, running through the dark hair beneath his navel, causing his breath to hitch - a gasp of air felt by the raw, ragged lips pressed up to his. And then he lunges, pushing her neck back, stretching out her jaw, rugged palms smoothing out her rib cage, tongue slipping against hers. He's growing breathless and numb, hands tingling like ringing copper bells, skin beginning to sear from the kisses studded upon it. He can feel himself losing control, becoming rushed, and desperate, and sloppy, and-

Logan's startled awake by the his mother's clattering of aging pans, and a scalding excretion in his jeans. He fumbles about, nearly slipping out of the armchair - it's aging fabric giving his spine a carpet burn, the phone falling from the crook of his neck and plummeting to the floor with an eerie ring. Once securely perched, he exhales a long, exasperated sigh, running a hand through his messy hair, earning him a mischievous gaze from his mother as she lights the stove.

"You were saying your girlfriend's name with such longing…." She giggles, before returning to her cooking with a cocky grin. Logan only chuckles with a breathy, nervous air, before looking at the telephone - now perched back on it's morrocan night stand.

Rays of bleached light illuminate the phones pristine, smooth texture - highlighting it's polished curves and chunky figure. He then realizes, with a heart skipping panic, that he fell asleep while Louise was speaking.

Soon after, their phone calls dwindle out, and Logan will recall this with a startling panic. One that sends his aching bones running to the phone - stale, shag carpet tickling his bare feet, to ring her up and rasp out a slew of apologies and declarations of love. But then a frigid reality drenches him as soon as his fingers curl around the coal colored handset.

She's still fast asleep. She's too busy to call him. She's too in pain to bear communication. There are a thousand reasons why he should not call her that Logan can think of, but the most menacing one is "she doesn't want to speak to him anymore". And that possibility drives him to spend long, sunset tinted afternoons perched on the armchair, intensely studying the rotary's carved shape, and fearing all the paranoia swarming within his cranium.


End file.
